ignite your bones
by skyestiel
Summary: Cas is thrilled when he finds out that Dean is alive, but, all of that changes when he tries to tell the hunter something very important. Many things have changed, but Cas will still do his best to fix him. Dean/Cas 9x23


**Summary:** Cas is thrilled when he finds out that Dean is alive, but, all of that changes when he tries to tell the hunter something very important. Many things have changed, but Cas will still do his best to fix him.

Basically, demon!Dean no longer feels emotions, but Cas feels pretty strongly about Dean... if you catch my drift.

**Author's**** Note:** This is a birthday present for one of my lovely friends on tumblr. She wanted angst, and, well, this is filled with it. I wanted to explore the idea of Dean being emotionless considering he's now a demon. As you can imagine, the concept becomes far more painful when you throw Cas being head over heels in love into the mix. Enjoy!

Oh, and the title of this fic comes from the song "Fix You" by Coldplay.

* * *

The next time Castiel saw Dean, things didn't go exactly as planned. As a matter of fact, nothing about the reunion played out the way Cas had imagined it would.

It was late at night when he received the phone call. He glanced down at his phone, Sam's smiling face peering back at him from the screen, and lifted it to his ear. Before he even answered the call, he had a pretty good idea of what Sam would say to him.

"I'm sorry, Cas, but he's gone."

"Metatron stabbed Dean… he's dead."

Or something to that effect.

"Hello, Sam," he sighed, reluctant to even speak. He didn't want to be having this conversation. He already knew that Dean was gone, and he'd rather not hear about it again, especially from the mouth of his heartbroken younger brother.

"Hey, Cas," Sam greeted. The acknowledgement was far from cheerful, but something about his tone… it didn't sound like the voice of a man who had just lost the person closest to him.

"What's wrong?"

"I… I think you should come here." Sam's voice lowered, whispering as if someone else was in the room with him, someone who shouldn't be hearing their conversation.

"Why?" Cas wondered, his curiosity piqued.

"Because you… you just need to get your ass to the bunker. Right now. I don't care how you do it, just _please_," Sam pleaded, clearly desperate. He was still trying to whisper, but his voice rose just as he finished his brief plea. The tone was somewhat disturbing, especially considering Dean's current state.

"Okay, but… okay. I'll be there as soon as I can." Castiel was agreeing to something he probably shouldn't be, but he did so anyway. He was doing it for Dean because, as he'd proved time and time again, he would do anything for him.

"Thanks," Sam muttered, and the line went dead.

Castiel stared at the phone in horrified silence for several seconds before shoving it back in his coat pocket. What had he just done? Who knew what he would find there at the bunker. Maybe Sam wanted to find a way to bring Dean back to life, a feat that Cas certainly couldn't accomplish. The last thing he wanted to do was look into Dean's lifeless face and know there wasn't a single thing he could do to save him. If not that, then maybe he wondered what had happened to Metatron, which, in that case, Cas would be able to provide him with a sufficient- although probably unsatisfactory- answer.

Hannah had been right about his grace. It was quickly depleting, and, if he wasn't careful, he would soon die, like a light bulb, displaying its brilliant light once more before quickly fizzling out. But, with Dean gone, why should that matter? The only reason he had fought for his life in recent years was because of Dean, the righteous man who had served as a constant reminder of why he loved humanity as much as he did. Without him, he had no purpose, no reason to go on living.

So, without a second thought, he'd used his wings to take him to the bunker, as opposed to catching a bus. The move did a number on his grace, but he no longer cared.

In seconds, he was there, standing in the same room where he'd sat many times, engaging in multiple conversations with Dean, each one more heartbreaking than the last. The thought of never speaking with Dean ever again, never having the chance to show him how special he truly was, sickened Castiel. His voice had served as a source of tranquility in the past, along with his little reassuring touches and gentle smiles. Every gesture had always managed to calm Cas down. But, like Dean, that was all gone.

A sudden flash of pain shot through his skull, forcing him to lean against the massive table in the center of the room. Thankfully, it was sturdy and easily held the angel's weak body. Castiel closed his eyes and inhaled. The pain wasn't excruciating, though, and he managed to recover and straighten back up again before Sam walked into the room.

"Finally," Sam drawled as he entered. He hadn't seen Cas bent over the table, which the angel was certainly thankful for. The last thing he needed to do was give the poor man something else to worry about. He'd been through enough already, that was for sure.

"What's wrong?" Castiel asked. He'd decided that the best thing to do was get straight to the point. He didn't want to spend the next twenty minutes skirting around the subject, whatever it is that Sam _had_ to tell him, and cut right to the chase.

"Cas… it's… it's Dean."

Castiel felt his stomach drop. The spark of pain had reignited in his head, spreading to every inch of his deteriorating body. That name was like poison now, infecting his system with its false promises of compassion.

_Dean. _

_Hello, Dean. _

_Dean and I do share a more profound bond. _

_Dean, I always come when you call. _

_Dean Winchester is _dead_._

He recoiled, taking a step back. "He's dead."

Instead of agreeing with Castiel's comment, Sam looked down. It was as if he were uncomfortable. But… why? Discussing a person's death was generally unpleasant, yes, but Sam almost seemed guilty. Like he was hiding something from Cas.

"Sam… Dean _is_ dead, isn't he?" Castiel wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer. If Dean were dead, like he should be, then Cas would continue to grieve. It wouldn't be easy, and the suffering would be unbearable. But, if Dean were_ not_ dead, the implications were far worse. Because if he hadn't died, he had surely become something else- something inhuman.

Sam reluctantly looked up, meeting Castiel's frightened stare. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped. The tension in the room had grown thicker, and Cas felt faint.

"Not exactly," Sam mumbled, turning away once again.

_Of course_. Castiel wasn't sure why he'd expected anything different. When one Winchester died, the other did whatever it took to bring them back to life. Whether it be instilling the help of a rogue angel or making a corrupt deal with a demon, they'd do it.

"Where is he?" Cas surprised himself by making that request first. He would save the lecture for later, after he'd seen the living and breathing Dean Winchester himself. He had to see the other man again before doing anything else.

"Um," Sam muttered awkwardly. He clearly hadn't been expecting Castiel's response either. He gestured toward the door he had just come through. "I'll take you to him."

* * *

Castiel was an angel. He had seen and experienced a great deal in his ridiculously long life. He had watched the Roman Empire grow and collapse, observed the creation of the United States government, listened to thousands of moving speeches. But nothing could've prepared him for this moment.

Just by looking at Dean, you couldn't tell that anything had changed. He appeared to be exactly the same. He still insisted on wearing multiple layers of plaid and leather and sported his worn denim jeans. The freckles had not disappeared, scattered across his cheekbones and nose. The little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and the plush bow of his lips had remained unchanged. And, at this point in time at least, the emerald green eyes peered back at Castiel like they always had.

Dean smiled uncertainly. He was sitting on his bed, staring wearily up at Cas. He didn't move to stand up and didn't invite the angel over either. Instead, he just watched, silent and, undoubtedly, scared.

Castiel concluded that the penetrating stare was invitation enough and walked over to where Dean was seated, lowering himself into the spot next to the restless man. He didn't speak at first, unsure as to what would be best at a time like this. Hesitantly, he turned to face the other man and did exactly what Deanhad been doing: Castiel watched.

Dean's body was stiff, muscles taut as if he may bolt at any second. Any of the leftover softness in his facial features had hardened. Even before the change, Dean had the calloused hands and scars that came along with the hunter's lifestyle. But now…

Dean's brow furrowed, and he blinked. Suddenly, his human eyes, his absolutely beautiful eyes, were gone. Castiel now gazed into nothingness, the black, depthless voids of a demon.

Cas couldn't stop the gasp from slipping past his lips. Dean didn't seem bothered by it, though. He blinked several more times and began angrily scrubbing at his face, as if he had an eyelash or troublesome piece of lint in his eyes. When he finally stopped, his eyes had returned to normal.

The angel didn't want to be afraid, to shy away from the irreplaceable man he had raised from perdition- he really didn't. But it was too late. He had thought, as crazy as it may sound, that he'd saved Dean. That he had somehow rescued him, keeping him away from the fiery dungeons of hell once and for all. He was wrong. Dean wasn't saved- he was _doomed_.

Castiel did the first thing that came to mind. If Sam had taught him one thing, it was that human contact could accomplish amazing things. So, he did what any frightened man would do in this situation. With a shaky exhale, he turned and threw his arms around Dean.

He tried to pull him close, still struggling to cope with the knowledge that it was highly unlikely he would hurt him. Although it wasn't the same Dean he had come to care about, the familiar weight of his body and the barely audible "Cas" were enough to comfort him, even if only for a few seconds. He had missed this, this closeness they'd developed. It felt right.

"Dean, I… I need to tell you something," Castiel croaked. He hated the way his voice broke, but he knew there was no way to stop it.

"And I need to tell you something, too," Dean mumbled back. His response, although worded the same way, sounded different than Cas's. He seemed completely unfazed by the confession that was about to surface. It worried Castiel, but he disregarded it for the time being.

"I don't care, Dean. I don't care if you're a demon," Cas insisted, pressing himself even closer, "I just- I want you. When I thought you were gone… I gave up. And I probably should be mad at you, but you're- you're _alive_."

Dean said nothing. He allowed Castiel to cling to him, but didn't reciprocate in any way. It was like the last time they had hugged, and nothing like the hug they'd shared in Purgatory. The realization hurt, but Cas was trying to make the most of the moment so, yet again, he ignored the information for now.

"But I noticed something else while you were gone, Dean, something very important." Cas paused. He wanted to say it- he _really_ wanted to say it. The deep and dark secret he had kept hidden for years was bubbling up in his throat, right at the tip of his tongue. But he didn't voice it. A better idea, one that would ensure that Dean understood, had come to mind, and it was _perfect_.

Before Dean could interrupt- which Castiel doubted he would anyway- the angel leaned back, leaving only a few inches of space between he and Dean's faces. Without a second thought concerning what he was about to do, Cas eagerly swallowed the hunter's surprised gasp, pressing his lips hungrily to Dean's, submerging himself in the euphoria and pleasure of the contact.

He could've stayed in that moment, with their bodies pressed together and lips brushing, for the rest of his existence. There was nothing else quite like it. He wondered how angels were able to avoid temptations such as this, the desire to touch and be touched. The intimate gesture was just another reminder, another reason why Castiel would accept mortality- if given the option- once his grace was gone.

But there was something off. Dean, the man who had always prided himself on being a ladies' man, hadn't moved a single inch since their lips had first touched. His body had stiffened, and, instead of returning the kiss, he just _sat_ there.

Immediately, Cas pulled away. Dean blinked and the black nothingness was back, peering at Castiel's horrified face. He couldn't understand what went wrong. Even though Dean had never come out and said it explicitly, he'd dropped numerous little hints over the years that had indicated how much he cared for the angel. He had to feel _something_ about the kiss.

And then it hit him: Dean no longer felt emotions. He was a demon now, and they simply couldn't feel. Dean hadn't held back because he was afraid or disgusted- he would never experience those sensations again. The warmth in Castiel's chest, the shivers that had run down his spine, were things Dean wouldn't comprehend. He couldn't return the kiss because he didn't feel the pleasure and love that went along with it.

"You… no." Cas hated this. This was what true hopelessness felt like. The pain he'd experienced when he'd heard of Dean's death was only the beginning. It paled in comparison to the ache in his chest now. Even if Dean had loved him before, that part of him had died, along with his humanity.

"I'm sorry," Dean insisted. His eyes, those stupid eyes, were blank and depthless. Coupled with the apology, it was almost too much for Castiel to handle. _He's still Dean, he's still Dean, he's still Dean, _the angel tried to convince himself.

That wasn't true, though, was it? Dean no longer hungered for food-not even _pie_- or sex or alcohol. Those were the things that made him… _him_. Without any of those cravings, he was just a killing machine, hungry for the metallic scent of spilled blood and hideous crack of broken bones.

Castiel wouldn't- _couldn't_- let that happen. Dean had said they were family once, and, as a Winchester, he would do whatever it took to save him. If it meant being by his side at every moment, serving as the moral compass Dean no longer had, Cas would do just that. Or if it meant trying to bring back his humanity, sharing the comfort of human touch, Castiel would gladly take on that challenge, as well. Anything, anything you could imagine, Cas would try it.

"No, Dean, _I'm _sorry. I should've done something. If I had only shattered the tablet a few seconds earlier…"

Dean reached out and rested his hands on Castiel's shoulders. He blinked several times like he'd done earlier, and, to Cas's relief, his eyes returned to normal. Although the familiar green had only been gone for mere seconds, their absence had disturbed Cas. They were yet another part of Dean that would never be the same again.

"It's not your fault," Dean explained. He tried to smile, but it looked painful and forced. Cas appreciated the effort, nevertheless, and smiled back. "I'm the dumbass that accepted the Mark. I'm the dumbass who kept the"- he shuddered- "the First Blade. You didn't do anything wrong. Plus, you took care of Metatron, right?"

Castiel had completely forgotten about Metatron. The mention of his name, however, rekindled the furious rage Cas had felt at the sight of the blood-stained angel blade in the monster's hand. He swallowed and struggled to maintain his weak smile.

"I didn't kill him, but I imprisoned him. He's not going anywhere."

Dean didn't seem thrilled by the concept of letting Metatron live, but he nodded his head in agreement anyway. His hands had yet to move from Castiel's shoulders. The weight was nice and made the angel feel grounded. Even if Dean was a demon now, Cas felt at home when they were together.

"Well, at least he's not raising hell anymore," Dean decided, sighing loudly.

Silence suddenly filled the room, thick and foreboding. Castiel glanced down at Dean's hands, tracing the long lines of the hunter's fingers with his gaze. They fit well where they were, sliding down to grasp the angel's biceps. When he looked back up, Dean was blinking frantically for what felt like the hundredth time since Cas had joined him. They were wide, beautiful, and green when they met Castiel's, though, and for that, he was thankful.

"I wish… I wish that I could be the guy you deserve, Cas."

Dean sounded broken when he finally spoke. Strangely, the confession didn't sound like something a demon would say. The thought sparked a tiny, hopeful fire in Castiel's heart. It may not be perfect, but it was a start. Cas could work with that.

Carefully, he raised his arms and rested his hands on either side of Dean's face, holding it as if it were a fragile object he feared might break at any moment. He rubbed the pads of his thumbs along the soft skin beneath each of Dean's eyes, silently thanking God- or whatever higher power they may be- for the color in his irises instead of the horrifying black.

He loved this man. He loved everything about him, every fault and quirk, every crack and fissure. There was no one else in the world he would trade for this broken man- rather, _demon_- before him. He meant what he'd said: he didn't care what Dean had become. It was just another flaw, nothing more.

Cas leaned forward and, ever so softly, placed a kiss to the corner of Dean's mouth. He lingered there for a few blissful moments before pulling away but kept his hands firmly in place. He looked right into Dean's eyes- his _human_ eyes- and, with every ounce of confidence he had left, he spoke.

"I _will_ fix you, Dean Winchester. I've done it once, and I can do it again."


End file.
